Where Angels Go to Die
by Servant of Fire
Summary: AU . "die" here implying that they die from bliss. A collection of random cases strung together in scenes, showing how Sherlock and John are learning to enjoy life again after the loss of Mary and Baby Watson. Written for the Deductionist, who suggested I write something happy.
1. Case 1: Ponzi Scheming Lightman

**Where Angels Go to Die~**

**For the Deductionist , because she suggested I write something happy~**

**To the One Who gives meaning to every situation. And the meaning is love.**

**Author's Note: The following is a collection of some very random cases, all strung together in scene like sequence, as if they somehow belong together? **

**Case One- The Ponzi-Scheming Light Man~**

Daylight was a weariness for John today. The sun beat down on him through the clouds ,like a priest that failed to hear the gospel, teaching only the hopelessness of law.

He comes dragging into Baker Street, drained of all color and hope, bleached by the sun, that beat in through his office window, all through out the monotonous hours of a work day gone all wrong.

Would he ever live down the disgrace of being the constant companion of the world's only( somewhat controversial) consulting detective?

He is thankful for the soft darkness of the coming of night fall.

"When...? " he asks himself. When he was a child he was afraid of the dark. As a soldier, darkness gave combat complications. As a man in recovery, darkness was the time when his demons came back to haunt him, the harvesting place for PTSD...

When did he fall in love with the dark? When did he first recognize its beauty, and the safe hidden-away feeling it could emanate? When did he suddenly become the captive audience of its every whispered word, or when did he benefit from the wisdom it concealed?

He closed his eyes, and suddenly he knew. A smile spread on his face, as he leaned against this wall, just as they leaned against this wall, that one night...

"That was the most stupid thing, I have ever done." he hears his own voice say, a long time ago.

So many life times ago. Before the return of Moriarty, and the death of Mary and their unborn baby. Before there ever was any reason to look dreadfully up at the roof of St. Bart's...

Before the days that caused all the brokeness inside him ,there was one wonderfully dark night, when he met the man who had given sinew to the evening.

John feels his bones begin to warm ,like coals in the bottom of the fire stirred back to life, and he feels his lashes grow moist like dew falling before the dawn.

Sherlock had compared him to the light, and that was true, he didn't belong to shadow.

But shadow was his brother, and he loved him more than his own immortal soul.

Was suddenly startled by the depth of his voice, like low thunder in the dim room.

"Hello, John." he could feel him smiling before he opened his eyes.

" Hey..."he whispers, voice as small as sparrow's flight, barely able to breathe, why he doesn't know.

So much loss...So very much loss, and pain in his life.

So very much more love.

Total eclipse, they fell silent. Sherlock's sharp features were blurred by the brightness of the candle in his hand.

"So, umm, is this...like...are you having a séance? Run the Baker Street Irregulars off, and so now it's time to pick off the bone yard?" John quips, voice as soft as snowfall, falling into the coolness of the room, almost undetected save that silence makes everything so much more loud.

"The powers out." Sherlock says, matter -of -factly.

"Let me guess, experiment?"

"For once I am innocent..." Sherlock smiles ,mischievously. "And this time Mrs. Hudson is guilty. She had a row with the electrician, and now he won't help her any more. Of course ,it probably didn't help anything when I came down to see what all the fuss was about ,and deduced that he was involved in a money laundering scheme, was in deep, needed a lot of extra money for himself so he could flee the country and his crime boss, and was charging Mrs. Hudson about 9 times more than his services were worth."

John's mouth gapes. And Sherlock stares blankly.

"Alright, so it probably IS my fault."

Silence.

"You know, actually, it's ok. I don't really mind the dark..." John said suddenly.

Sherlock smiled again, the candle burning low about his face.

"You know, we don't have to hang around the stair's landing. You can come in and take your coat off, and (*mimics Mrs. Hudson*)' have a cup of tea ,dear!'"

John chuckles, and starts to follow Sherlock up the stairs.

The young detective turns to face him with an amplified swish of his coat.

"You do realize that you live here again, have now for around 3 months?"

"Well, yeah."

"Make yourself at home!"


	2. Case 2: Tescos Revolution

**Case 2: The Tescos Revolution~**

Some few days after the "Ponzi Scheming Lightman" John Watson makes the mistake of going into Tescos on a Saturday afternoon.

Gets through the door, rounds a few aisles. Is whistling to himself,nerves set on edge, why he isn't sure.

Given that Tescos is not the very nicest of places to be found on Saturday afternoon, he still should not be so edgy. This is not "child-screaming-won't-shut-the-devil-up" anxiety, this is "Sherlock-Holmes-is-somewhere-doing-something-stupid" anxiety.

And then he is pulled down into a giant bin of stuffed animals, (apparently the supplier of said things having a large sale).

He struggles against the hands, against the horror that he could ,in fact, have lost his mind,and is imagining being abducted,and dragged into the abyss, by an oversized stuffed rabbit, when he feels the familiarty of said hands, and feels a harsh warm whisper against the side of his face:

"John, for God's sakes, stop all this thrashing, you are attracting the attention of the child to our right, aged 3 and 2.65 months, attends the Happy Heart East London Laundry and Daycare Services,-and we do NOT need that kind of attention right now."

John sinks into the great mound of magenta and lime faux fur.

"Alright, so you have FINALLY gone around the bend. I can actually say I am suprised it took so long, Sherlock."

"Don't be an idiot ,John. This is for a case."

"No, exactly!, you've resulted to deducing toddlers,and staking out in a large bin of stuffed bunnies!Next thing you know you'll be snatching a kid's action man ,for interrogation purposes!"

Sherlock smiles ,wistfully. A lime green faux feather from a stuffed duck has settled under his nose,and above his lip,like a ridiculous mustache. John chuckles and dusts it off.

"No, really, John. We are on a fabulous...this -this is a truly -absolutely fantastic!-"

"Spit it out already ,mate! I'm under the impression,that we are pressed for time!"

"This case, John! It's perfect! The workers of Tescos all across the country are going to be hosting one mass organized stick-up of their own store. Talk about going on strike!"

"Yeah, and you know this how?"

"The final piece to the puzzle I deduced when I stowed away aboard a delivery truck, coming to this store from Manchester!"

"Oh, so THAT'S where you were last night. Your supper got cold. So, I ate it. Come again?"

"What ,didn't you hear me? I stowed away on a delivery truck. They didn't even notice me hiding in the giant box of these dolls."

John blinks a few times. "So, you have intercepted a devious plot of the Tesco Chain Employees to overthrow their cruel retail masters, and make some kind of statement,and you plan to do what about it ,exactly?"

"Well, the thing about it,is they plan to host a mass burglary,and split the diffrences. There is strength in numbers?One or two employees stealing their store blind, narrows down arrests. Supposedly every employee of every store in the entire company doing it?Who to prosecute, right?"

"So, again, what are you going to do about this?And WHY are we in this bin of stuffed animals?"

"We are in this bin of stuffed animals, because this is the most strategic place for us to be. Also , it's comfy, admit it."

"Alright. Yeah, it is."

"And, I have evidence that this store is where the plan originated,and I know who is guilty, who is guilty by mere assosciation,and who was set up by their coworkers,and has nothing to do with the plan at all, not even prievious knowledge."

"And you are...?"

"Waiting for Lestrade to show up for his Saturday afternoon snack run,and spring the news on him, intercepting the bulglary before the chain-reaction-(really, no pun intended) even begins."

"How do you know Lestrade will show up in time?"

"Oh, because he always enters Tescos through the east facing door, at exaclty 13 hundred hours local time, and the bulglary is scheduled for 13:15."

"What if he's 15 minutes late?"

"He never is."

"You've been stalking Greg?"

"No, I've been...observing him...I have had reasons!Is there a problem?"

John is grinning like the cat that ate the canary. Rather looks that way, with a bright yellow faux feather stuck to his lips. Sherlock narrows his brows at him,and John laughs.

"You have been following him,to make sure he's alright, yeah?"

"Alright, yes I have! But to be fair, he has,on several occasions, done the same for me,and I am merely returning the favor."

"Or the affection..."

"Shut it, here he comes!"

Greg is walking by ,when he hears a clipped whispered, "NOW!"

And two sets of arms shoot out,and snatch him into the furry pit of despair.

Before he can even bemoan the loss of his sanity he hears Sherlock saying,

"Hello, Gavin, you are just in time to intercept what has been the best attempted burglary of the entire year so far!"

"He means 'Hello, _Greg_, sorry that we pulled you in a bin of stuffed rabbits and ducks, yes this is stupid,and a bit mental, but we have a legitimate reason...'..."John corrects.

Greg sighs, "Hello, boys,what have you got for me this time?..."


	3. Case 3: The Popcorn Shooter

**Case 3: The "Popcorn" Shooter**

**Author's Note: I dedicate this case to the memory of the victims of the "Batman Shooting". Rest in peace~**

**Side note: I'm from America, cinemas may be different in England than what I have described? I did my best. :)**

He asks himself, when?

When did he come to love the Daylight more than life eternal? Or need his presence more than his veins needed circulation?

He examines all the data, and concludes that it happened the moment he offered him his brother-actually-his-sister's gifted mobile, and , without coercion, really without introduction, and without the offer of anything at all, he had simply walked into his life, and immediately started lending him his helping hands, and attentive ears.

John.

He smiles, listening to him chatter, as they pass through the doors of the cinema.

It smells like all kinds of different candy in here. And loads of cheap perfume from the conventual dates.

It doesn't occur to him they might look like they are on a date. Why would it, didn't people take their brothers with them to the movies as well as their lovers?

And besides, they were only going to the movie because it was relevant for their latest case.

So, Sherlock breathed contentedly when John came back with their tickets, and with a huge bag of popcorn, and handed him a paper cup for a drink.

"Since you don't eat on cases, I thought you could at least have a soda. Which ,by the way, exactly HOW does going to see Batman 4 (they weren't supposed to be making a 4th , you know?) but how does it have anything to do with a case?"

"The signs,John. They've been all around you for days. The serial-killer to be, the one we've been calling the "Cadet", and we've observed off and on for over 4 months now?"

He looks John in the eyes to see if he's paying attention. And his train of thought is almost broken by the intensity of the light, of the trust, in those eyes...

"Mmm, the one we were stalking in Hyde Park,whilst pretending to feed the pigeons?"

"The very one."

John smiles, "Yeah..., so?"

"So all the data of these past few days; the sheets we've put together! It all points to here. The dark plot of this movie, the dark iconic hero...they are all inspirations for him, John. This will be his "show stopper", his scene. And by becoming part of the act, we can intercept it, stop it, before any one gets hurt."

"And the police?"

"Ah, right, I've learned my lesson, many times over, thank you, Doctor Watson!" Sherlock smiles, despite how irritable his voice sounds. "They're on standby. I told them to stand-down until I sent the word that our man had entered the theatre."

"If we already know who he is, why didn't we have them arrest him before? Set up a stage ourselves?"

"Well, John, from past experience I'd say it's less of a hassle just to catch him (or her) in the act..."

"Sherlock Holmes has made a pun! Bravo!"

"What, no?"

They start laughing and bickering, and for a moment, if only for a moment, it feels like they have no where to be, no work to do, and that all is well.

"You just were looking for an excuse to take me out's what it was. My God, people will talk!" John jeers, grabbing his arm trying to draw attention ,and thus annoy him.

"You are reading into things. Yes, I needed to get you out of the flat. And you wanted to see the movie,but you have to agree, catching him in the act will work BETTER."

"It will only work BETTER, because it was YOUR idea."

The bickering went on, and then they just got their drinks and went and sat down, like ordinary people would do, on an ordinary outing for friends. John smiled. Felt like he could get used to this.

Had missed Sherlock so badly when he'd been gone...

He was suddenly lost in so many emotions, remembering so many things both good and bad, and distracted by the beginning of the previews, that he almost didn't hear Sherlock whisper into his mobile;

"He's here, lockdown."

"Just then the screen shut off, and there were loud complaints."

And Sherlock pulled the entire bag of popcorn out of John's hands and hurtled it across the room.

"So obvious I hit my mark in the dark!" he howls at the soon-to-be-shooter. Who is apparently a crack shot, with a flashlight. The beam trains on the one who spoke, who threw the popcorn.

John has stood up, and is scanning the room. The stupid-despite-good-aim-would-be killer mistakes John for Sherlock and aims for his kill.

Sherlock's eyes go wide,and he throws himself on John, and lets out a little groan,and hits the floor, stomach pressed hard against John's back.

A woman screams. People try to head for the door.

"If calculations are correct,and they usually are, Lestrade and the boys will be on the scene in 30 seconds ,which is approximately the time I will need you to lie still." Sherlock whispers into John's ear, trying not to sneeze from inhaling a wisp of blonde.

"Like bloody-" John is about to release a stream of colorful language on Sherlock,who wraps a long-fingered hand around his mouth,and hushes him.

"30 seconds! And then you can unleash your world of nightmares, my dear soldier."

"Blood, I taste blood! And it's not mine, because other than your scrawny bones poking into me all over, I am perfectly fine. Conclusion, genius, you've been hit! Where, tell me!" John hisses softly.

"Not to worry, only grazed the back of my left hand...Which is very fortunate. Such a shooting as this happened before ,if I recall. Helped me to form our result. It happened ,almost exactly like this, in America a few years back...And others were not so fortunate as we are...They lost people they cared about..."

And if there was one person Sherlock cared about...He thanked God in heaven, silently, then that he'd been given such a mind...

The lights came on. The police were putting the kid-shooter in cuffs , and Lestrade was giving the charges. Paramedics were on the scene, treating a few people for shock.

The owner of the theater was giving people their money back.

"But-but you can stay and see the movie for free." he was saying.

A few people declined. John was about to himself, tried to get Sherlock to sit up.

"The case is over, don't you wanna stay? Thought you'd been dying to see this." Sherlock protested.

John blinked, looking him straight in his eyes.

"You ...just...took a bullet for me ,Sherlock."

"In my hand. Do you wanna see the movie or not?"

"In your hand, and almost in a vital, had said boney hand not been in the way! Sherlock, you really can just _die_ for me at the drop of a hat like that?"

"Really more or less the hurling of a popcorn bucket. Always be technical ,John."

The two of them erupted into laughter.

"You boys can have free snacks to replace the ones that just got ruined,if you chose to stay." the owner walked up to them saying.

"Oh ,of course we'll stay. But could you ask one of the paramedics for a first aid kit? I need to bandage my friend's hand." John replied, and Sherlock looked up with a sheepish grin.

The owner smiled at Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, recognizing them now, from one time on evening telly.

"Right away, sir." he smiled, feeling a strange warmth in the hollow ringing of the silence, just to say that he'd met them...


	4. Case 4: Study in Snow Globes

**Case 4: Study in Snow Globes~**

John draws in a deep breath of the gift shop. It smells like sandalwood and candles, and ladies perfume. He thinks about the possibility of beautiful women coming in here, and then his nose itches, and he realizes all of these smells make him want to sneeze.

Sherlock brushes against his arm, as suddenly present as a shadow rising from its sleep on the floor, and John is jolted back into reality.

A case. The hunt more thrilling than usual. They've never had such a domestic serial killer before.

" It's _sheer _ brilliance, John!" Sherlock gasps, clapping gloved hands together, the sound deeply muffled. They have just walked in off the winter street. John studies his friend, for a moment, whilst he is unawares.

Wisps of blue fabric, fluttering behind him, illuminated every once and a while, by the dim light of the ancient gift store, like the brush strokes of God, entering this impression of their lives, casting the scarf about his shoulders, as he walks. The coat trailing behind him, as now God adds the smudge of charcoal, darkness enters the scene of the crime, Sherlock's unique evening enchantment. And then the lights of the ceiling, soft yellows, the occasional white, from the sole chandelier, and prisms of color, glancing off of his very darkness, adding the effect of resonance to the very air.

The light glances off his high features, brushed with the faint trace of red by the winter, as if he is indeed on fire, burning within him. Eyes alive, blazing like stars in his face, as he sweeps the room.

Rarely does one ever see their life, right in the moment it is captured in portrait. John feels his heart heated with content, as he glances aside to this momentary depiction of his dearest friend.

They are moving with the very waves of light in the room. The very presence of sound is aware of their passing, waiting for the deep ,dark voice to speak its wisdom, the murder thus resolved.

And John realizes, and his breath is taken, snatched from him in an instance, like Prometheus' wind passing over a candle!

Sherlock, who was dead, no more than 4 years ago, who was dead and buried, and gone for ever, is here tonight.

Alive.

John feels his heart aching in his throat. Tears are being wrung from his eyes, like grapes bleeding wine, and he almost doesn't hear the excited rumbling chatter, as Sherlock closes the distance between himself and the result.

"It's absolutely ,brilliant. Who else could kill softly, as softly as music, as softly as snow fall? Never need lift a finger, no trace evidence, nothing for me to go on. Who needs just watch from the shadows, as people die silently, and all of them poisoned, no random plague, save the one you created?..."

He is in the same room as the killer now. Her chestnut hair falls in ripples over her shoulders, eyes as alarming green as that of a mermaid.

Sherlock stops short, and as if he has spread the massive wings of the raven ,perched at the Gates of the Grave, his darkness foreshadows the room.

The killer has turned on them, and is smiling smugly. John's blood goes cold.

"So, you solved my little puzzle then, did you, Mr. Holmes? Merry Christmas."

Sherlock smiles, and draws closer to the counter. There sits a snow globe, a syringe containing a lethal ,colorless toxin, having been injected into the soft plastic at the top.

" Yes, and you are absolutely brilliant. I suppose that is why you did it then, to prove that you are so clever?"

"Do I have to have a reason? Does anyone have to have a reason for the things that they do?"

Sherlock smiles, "One usually has a motive for murder. You however, Miss Angelique Swann, you have had a storybook life. So what could be your motive? Not the paralytic of bitterness. Not the fierceness of love...you have never fallen."

"Ah yes, I heard about your Fall. Love is simply tragic ,isn't it? You fell head over heels for this doctor fool, and look what became of you. You're a dog on a leash now, Sherlock Holmes. I was trying to do you a favor."

"Ah, so boredom is the motive!" Sherlock laughed,slapping the counter. "You wanted to play games with me, did you? Let me remind you, the last person who did that failed miserably. The reason being I possess something so much stronger than my massive intellect, what I like to call my 'secret weapon', and is never voiced."

"Oh? And what's that? Do tell, I am very good at keeping secrets."

Sherlock turned and looked at John. Stared at him steadily, until John felt it a bit scary.

"A motive...A most fierce one. And the secret is mine to keep, and never to tell." he smiled smugly, but John had guessed what it meant, and smiled in return.

Sherlock clicked his heel on the floor, and spun about again, smiling darkly at Angelique, leaning forward ,chin on his palms, like a child might do when talking to the one they admire.

"So, let me see if I have guessed it all correctly, " he said, raising his voice as he was aware that Greg Lestrade had entered the room, to arrest her.

"A serial killer that never leaves the shop. You take a simple snow globe, the commodity that you chiefly sell, being that the ornament section is your area of this store. You inject it with your venom, that is only stirred to its potency, when the victim shakes the globe, the poison by the time of purchase having time to sit and stew in the glittery liquid within the globe. The victim absorbs it via their skin, then, through the soft plastic outside of the globe, soft plastic that you were able to poke tiny air holes in with a needle, without actually piercing the container, thus keeping most of the liquid in ,but allowing the poison to breathe out. Thus the victim dies very slowly, of symptoms that remind one of the flu, until they start horrificly convulsing. A plague from the Dark Ages, and people sitting and quivering in fear, under the impression that the Devil is on holiday in London. But there is no devil here, is there? I only observe a clever siren, a Christmas carol on her lips, the swan song of murder in her heart."

"Oh,...how sweet. You flatter me, Sherlock. You could have been a poet, and had women fall as foolishly over you, as you Fall over your friends. Too bad that just isn't your area. I may have liked to share a drink with you."

John's jaw dropped, "You...you like...him..? That's all that this was about, you were attracted to him, so you organize the murder of at least 15 shop patrons, just to get his attention?!"

Sherlock's brows curled in confusion.

"It worked ,didn't it? What can I say...he's hot." Angelique said, smugly.

"He's NOT." John gasped, and then he looked at Sherlock blushing, realizing that ,with most people, that might be an offensive thing to say.

But his best friend wasn't most people, he reminded himself. Sherlock held a very blank expression.

"The 15 murders you arranged? Doctor Watson was able to treat the victims, and they will all survive. Disappointed?"

"Nah, I don't care if they live or die. Just wanted to get your attention."

"Well, this has been delightful ,Miss Swann, but I shall inform you as I do everyone, I consider myself married to my Work. Quite simply, I don't date. Period."

"You date John plenty." she huffed, looking at John and mouthing "You lucky boy!"

John felt like he was going to be sick.

"I caught her in the act, so the court case will probably go rather smoothly." Sherlock said to Lestrade.

"Thank you, Sherlock." was all that the Detective Inspector could say.

* * *

A few minutes later, Sherlock and John were briskly walking down the winter street, the snow blowing about them, like angel's tears turned soft with their compassion.

"When I said, I didn't mean,...it's not like you are...ugly...or anything...I just meant that.." John cleared his throat, feeling awkward.

Sherlock chuckled, "How would you describe me, John?"

"Dark...almost...beautiful..."

Sherlock gave him a look, and he realized what he'd said...

"I didn't...I don't...We aren't..."

Sherlock laughed, and wrapped an arm around him, "Don't worry, I know..."

"Alive." John whispered.

"Hmm?"

"I'd describe you as alive. Really, after you...you weren't...And it's...it's good to have you...here. Again."

Sherlock drew a deep breath.

"It's good to be...here...It's all...good." he cleared his throat, standing up straight again, blue scarf beating at the wind, like the wings of tiny birds caught in the gale.

"Hungry?" he asked then, changing the subject.

"Yes."

John smiled.

Here. Alive. With him.

All good...


	5. Case 5: A Scandal in the Library

**Case 5: A Scandal in the Library~**

John didn't come to the library very often. Usually, if he wanted to read, he'd get on the web and find an e-book, or he'd steal a book from Sherlock for a couple of hours.

He was really only in the library at this time of the day returning a medical journal he'd rented for the surgery, needing it only for an article a very acclaimed doctor had written, about a certain patient's rare, but treatable, disease. John huffed; he didn't like dealing with the highly-stressed ,recently- diagnosed patients...

He thought he was hallucinating ,maybe, when he came into the library's sitting area hoping to find a magazine, and just sit back and relax for a minute before it was time to hit the road again.

Because there sat Sherlock Holmes, surrounded by children, and he was wearing tiny little round black sunglasses like an ex-Beatle or something, that slid down his nose and revealed his eyes, and therefore was not a good disguise -at all. He was leaning forward, peering into their upturned faces, very animatedly reading "The Jungle Book" to them.

When he read the parts about the tiger, the children gasped, and tumbled over each other,at the big voice that was narrating the frightening tale. John himself was transfixed, wondering what on earth he was seeing.

Every so often whilst Sherlock was reading, he would look up and scan the far wall by the fire escape, as if he saw something no one else could, which usually he did.

"The End." he said , dramatically shutting the book with a loud, "thud" that made the children flinch.

"I...don't like tigers now." said a little boy.

Sherlock laughed. "I have no idea why. It's completely illogical to base your opinion of all tigers after having heard about only one of them , in the Jungle Book, which isn't even a true story!"

The child blinked, not really caring so much whether it was a logical opinion or not.

Sherlock sighed, and fiddled with his glasses.

"So...when are the blokes supposed to show up, and we get to stop a murder?" asked a little girl, in too high-pitched of a voice.

"Shh, shh! He could already be here, silly! I don't know exactly when he will be here, only that he is coming, and that we need to be pretending that we are just having story time when he gets here,so as not to look suspicious."

John laughed, and cleared his throat. "So...what are we gonna read next, then?" he asked ,with a laugh.

"Oi, it's one of those blokes now!" growled a little boy, pouncing at John's leg.

" Wait, no! No that's um...John." Sherlock reached and grabbed the boy by the back of the jacket, as he stood swinging his little fists madly at John.

"John?..." the kids repeated, and looked at him as if he'd just landed from Mars.

"Yes, John. He used to be a soldier. An army doctor...So, you aren't allowed to pounce him; he's good, he saved people."

"Ohhhh!" the kids hummed, and sat back on their haunches. "So ,he's on our team?"

"Yes. Now, where was I?"

John laughed at how absurd this was.

"Weren't you gonna read us another book?" asked a boy with firey red curls, leaning on his hand,and yawning like this "murder stopping" business was really boring.

Sherlock waved a long-fingered hand over a pile of books, like a magician performing a trick,and plucked one out. John was now rumbling with chuckles, and Sherlock peered at him over his glasses, one brow curled,and a nostril flaring ,because this was NOT funny, it was rather,in fact, a perfectly sensible way to divert a murder.

"This one's called the "Snow Queen", how does that sound?"

"Is she a babe?" asked a little boy. "Like a really HOT chick?"

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose, "John, define the meaning of the term "babe" in the context this boy is using it. And what in hell fire, pray tell, do you mean by "hot chick"?! How could she be hot, you dolt, she is the "SNOW" queen-?!"

"Alright, Sherlock,why don't I answer the kid's question?" John pleaded, as Sherlock was about to go all intellectually psycho on the poor little boy.

He looked over at the boy,and the boy smiled sheepishly, not really understanding why his question had irritated Sherlock so badly?

"A total babe, mate. Makes The Princess look like a troll."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and suddenly, his hair was standing up,and he boomed as if possessed, "CHICKS AND TROLLS! What relevance do CHICKS AND TROLLS! have to do with THIS story?!"

"The child has a legitimate question, Sherlock. Is the Snow Queen beautiful, yes or no?"

"How am I to know, I haven't even begun to read it! I can't form a deduction until I have gathered sufficient data!"

"So, you'd date her?" asked the kid,not understanding what he meant by data.

"I wouldn't date any one, least of all a fictional character. That is bordering on psychosis! Pfft, enough of this fairy-tale rubbish, now it is time I honestly appeal to your silly little brains, and actually read you something-useful." he cried, tossing the book back in the pile.

He pulled out a huge science book, and the kids raised their brows. John face palmed. This was turning out to be a disastrous story time,indeed.

Until Sherlock opened the book of science,and began reading chemistry to them like one might read a dystopian novel, full of suspense, -edge of your seat! By the time he reached the part about biology, his voice was soft and almost sentimental, like when one reads a love story.

The kids were totally enthralled by Sherlock's version of science,and John's jaw dropped. This just wasn't happening. Sherlock Holmes was sitting in a library, a whole ring of little children about his feet, jaws dropped and spell-bound at the description of the invention of the incandescent lightbulb.

And right in the middle,Sherlock looked up and muttered,

"And there he is!"

"Edison?" a girl breathed in awe. "You can see Thomas Edison?"

"No, I see our murderer. Alright, now remember we're just reading."

They nodded,and all of them struck a pose of sorts, having decided this is what they would do when their stake out turned into officially catching the killer that was coming for the life of the librarian that had rejected his affections.

Suddenly, pretending to read the book, Sherlock read in a loud voice.

"But the little man couldn't be content with just a few calls, or to send roses, no...No,he'd have to sneak with a box of chocolates, into the library, the safest, least suspicious, of all the places in the City...And under his arm, what had he got, but a box of pretty chocolates for Mrs. Mayberry?...But were they chocolates only?"

Suddenly Sherlock leaped up, coat billowing behind him,and making a sound like an umbrella being opened when he stood,

"NO ,INDEED! THEY WERE LACED WITH CYANIDE, MEANT FOR MRS. MAYBERRY. BUT WHAT HE DIDN'T FACTOR WAS THAT MRS. MAYBERRY IS ALLERGIC TO CHOCOLATE,AND SO SHE WON'T BE EATING THEM. BUT THE REST OF THE STAFF WOULD,BECAUSE SHE IS SHARING, -KINDLY MRS. MAYBERRY! AND SO WHEN HE MEANT TO KILL ONE WOMAN, HE WILL KILL 9 MORE! 9 MORE SOULS!"

The kids jumped to their feet shouting abuses at the villain of the story. John was on his feet now too, and taking one ,two, three breaths about to hit the road again, and hard. The killer stood with the box of chocolates, a look on his face that indicated he may have loosed his bowels.

"So if I were that little man, I would be off as quick as silver. I'd run as if the Devil himself was behind me, taking little bites at my soul."Sherlock said, taking a few steps forward.

"Or I'd just give over the chocolates and turn myself in to the police, because wouldn't that be SO much easier?"

The criminal took off like a fighter jet.

"Easier, but they never choose that way, Sherlock, you oughta know by now!" John cried,and took off, Sherlock at his heels.

"I do know! But it would be easier on my respiratory system if he would simply chose the easier route!"

"Oi, no running!" shouted one of the old man librarians, who then looked around at the looks people gave him, for his hypocritical loudness ,since he was always shooshing people.

"And no talking either..." he said in sign language, slumping into his seat.


End file.
